Unrequited
There is no life without suffering.
The only question is which kind
You would most prefer to carry.
The answer is almost always the
Variety you do not currently possess
Because the true extent of our
Past pain is frankly forgettable.
The provision is out of our control,
To save our fragile sanity, but
It does not help us to keep sound hopes;
Not that they would consent
To be anything but irrational anyway.
Occasionally you might choose
Your present pain, but only for love,
Even a love you cannot define,
A love that refuses to fade with time.
You know nothing but that you
Want their happiness, and any
Personal suffering needed to secure it
Is a necessary evil - no, not so;
A boundless joy that brings a smile
To the eyes, that your tears of
Restraint, hopelessness, and humiliation
May water the seeds of contentment
In their heart as they sprout and bloom.
Your tears are only a fraction
Of the input, and invisible also as they
Must be to do their job effectively,
So they are universally overlooked
In favor of the soil of familiar affection
Giving the roots its grip, in favor of
The sunlight of passionate interests
That warms the soul, in favor of
The soft touch of a sweetheart honeybee.
Yet your restraint is valuable all the more
For its lack of exaltation, for its silence.
On reason, then, causes you to
Embrace the suffering that spurns you,
That crushes you under its heel,
That puts rocks in your stomach,
Thunderclouds in your heart, and
Cotton in your brain, unrelenting to
Your cries for a reason, a definition,
A guide of what is right and wrong
And what lies within yourself,
So that you can understand.
You embrace the suffering either
Deaf or merciless, preferring no other
Softer club or blunter blade,
Only because you know your silence
Spares them a burden, and their joy
Lights up their eyes and yours
In tandem, until you cannot wipe
The smile off your face, even as
You remember your attachment
And attunement are not reciprocated.
Their happiness is yours, and
Your suffering fuels it.
How could you ever let that go?
Stranger
"I was not a
Stranger of suffering
When I met you.
I had already had
My fair share
Of dilemmas.
But man, oh man,
Pain and promise
Radiated off you
In waves.
I had been the
Eye of a hurricane
Before, and
How it had hurt.
Everything is frozen
In there, in
The worst way.
How I wanted
To take your hand
And shake the
Pain away, to
Watch the stillness
Flee in the
Face of motion.
Your eyes would
Be brighter then.
But you turned
The corner and
Were gone before
I could stop you.
I see you
Once again, so
Many years later.
Your face shines
In the mirror;
Your eyes are radiant.
Past pain outs itself
In the scars around,
But you have
Clothed yourself
In promise fulfilled.
How I long to
Know the story
Of your success.
How I long to
Know your name.
I can
Greet you now,
As I could not
So long ago.
I have no
Flight to catch,
And you have
No pain pulling
You away.
I will walk
Up to you
And smile at
Your well being.
I will introduce
Myself in a murmur.
When we shake
Hands I will
Slip this envelope
Into your breast pocket.
You will look
At me oddly,
But you will
Not jerk away.
I will smile again,
Unable to force
Words forward,
Bow gently and
Walk away.
You will blink,
Perplexed, while
Reaching into your
Pocket to see what
This functioning mute
Has to say.
Then you will learn
That I missed you
Without knowing you,
That I suffer all
Stages of hurricanes
Alone, almost by choice,
But that when
I am in the eye,
I think of you,
Pray for you.
You will learn that
I am glad for you,
Proud of you,
For weathering so well.
You will learn
That I am caught in
A struggle for power
With my vocal chords,
That every day
Is frustrating and that
Some are impossible.
You will learn
That your success
Has given me hope
For mine.
(You had such promise
Behind the pain.)
Lastly, you will know
I am a stranger
To you as you
Are to me, and
We may never
See each other again,
But nevertheless
I want to thank you
For existing.
Thank you
For being a
Strange solace
In such a
Horrid storm."
Transition
When the ashes settle,
The dust will be used to write our names,
To detail our escape,
Our breakout from below,
And the ensuing reckoning by our hand.
The dust will cake our creases, coat our hair,
Cleanse our coming into power
With the solemn swear that another reckoning
Will never be needed again.
We will do better,
Lest we, also, are burned into ashes
Before we can be reborn.
Lighthouses
Blaring their beacons
From crest to crest,
Saturating the beaches
With bursts of yellow,
Extending digits
In crisp cyclic slices
Across the chaos
Of white-tipped waves,
Frothing waters, and
The din of raindrops
Echoing roaring thunder.
Under storms they
Fail to shatter, deftly
Deflecting crashing waves
And absorbing wild winds,
Instead, serving as a guide
In mitigating panic,
Abolishing doubt, and
Establishing stability.
Without their strength,
Ships crash;
Without their courage,
Innocents suffer;
Without their sacrifice,
The seas would be
More dangerous,
More unforgiving,
More suffocating than
They already stand.
Experienced and worldly,
Covered in the crust
Of salted sea and
Fighting toward
Their victory,
Lighthouses survive.
But when the storm
Dies down and
The repairs commence,
Lighthouses prosper.
Friendly Politics
Zip those lips.
Seal those views.
The thoughts you have
Are not the ones
They wish to pursue.
They preach open-minded-ness.
They preach think-it-through.
They say they think no less of you
If these things you do.
Maybe with strangers
These words hold true.
But with friends,
The few's thoughts divide
While the majorities' ring true.
Heat Check
Can you handle the heat?
I can.
I have weathered the flames
That surge shoulder high
And scrub delicate skin
Into shiny swaths of screaming red.
I have tasted the sweat
That trickles down between the eyes
And moistens the mouth
With the tangy taste of salt.
I have felt the adrenaline
Propel me forward.
I have made judgement calls
In times of distress.
I have misstepped,
But I can always right myself
And prevent any stumble
From ruining my choreographed dance
Of fire and flames,
Of sweat and perseverance
And victory.
I am strong.
I am confident.
I know I can handle the fire
When the kindling sparks
Into roaring flame.
When the time comes,
I will embrace it,
Dominate it,
And ultimately emerge victorious
Because I know
I can handle the heat.